I am going to try to write a villanelle about the villanelle.

The French have given us the villanelle,
poetic form with nineteen rhythmic lines.
Repeated cyclic wanderings impel

its message forward, ring a louder bell.
I’m glad I have discovered its designs,
and thank the French for giving villanelle

to us. We writers dip deep to our well
and hope for shining diamonds in our mines.
Repeated cyclic wanderings impel

a gem into our consciousness to dwell
with sunset golds and pinks and forest pines.
The French have given us the villanelle

that sings with music. Like a carousel,
it circles as each charming horse aligns.
Its cyclic wanderings repeat, impel

us to poetic destinations. Tell
more stories, set the table, pour the wines.
The French have given us the villanelle,
whose rhythmic cyclic wanderings compel.